


soft remembrances

by girl412



Category: Septimus Heap - Angie Sage
Genre: Angst?, F/F, Open Relationships, more like bittersweetness, no infidelity don't worry, so no spoilers!!, takes place right before magyk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 20:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13818933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl412/pseuds/girl412
Summary: Losing a mentor and a lover on the same day can take a lot out of you.





	soft remembrances

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's an unconventional pairing but I'm actually happy with how this turned out? Written based on a prompt by my friend Jenna on tumblr.

Marcia Overstrand had never expected that Midwinter Feast Day would find her in the Wizard tower, finally the Extra-Ordinary Wizard, holding a baby bundled up in a blanket – and not just any baby, but the infant princess. Her heart ached for Alther, stuck in the Throne Room, and a wary sense of foreboding ran through her, making her feel stiff and tense. Things couldn’t go well. She felt like this was just the beginning of something very bad and very dangerous. Next to her, two wizards were talking about Silas’s boy, something about the seventh son, but she wasn’t really paying attention. Something about those words made her think about the Heaps, how they would welcome any child into their home, and probably take care of the baby as well if it boiled down to that.

The infant princess opened her eyes and stared at Marcia, somewhat solemn and thoughtful, and Marcia’s breath almost hitched when she saw the shade of purple. She looked so much like her mother must have done, and something about her expression reminded Marcia of Cerys as well. She looked impatient, if a baby could look impatient, and at the same time, amused. 

Marcia couldn’t remember when she’d met the Queen for the first time, but she did know that it was at the Manuscriptorium and it was either during her second year or her third year. She’d been overwhelmed by the Queen, who seemed to elude an aura of authority without even trying, but whose eyes had twinkled as she’d smiled at her, and said sincerely, “Nice boots.” Marcia had watched her leave, dumbstruck.

But the next time they met, at Larry’s Dead Languages of all places, Marcia managed to keep her composure (or at least, managed to _look composed_ , even if she was internally panicking.) “Fancy seeing you here,” she said to the Queen, who actually laughed.  
“Why, I could say the same to you,” the Queen had said. “Extraordinary Wizard Apprentice and a proper lady, look at you standing here in this dingy shop.”  
“I’m not a Queen,” Marcia had wanted to point out. Instead she turned to face the Queen, waiting for Larry to return with the translations of the charm manuals Alther was waiting for. “Where would you expect to find me, your Majesty?”  
“Don’t call me that, Cerys will do.” The Queen – no, wait, _Cerys_ – had frowned, thinking. “At a library, probably. You look like the sort of person who would develop calluses on your fingertips from turning the pages of books.”  
“Indeed,” Marcia had said somewhat faintly. And then Larry had returned with the translations, and she’d gone.

The fact that Cerys was gone forever had left her in shock, but she knew that it wouldn’t be long before the pain set in. She wrapped the baby tighter in her softest purple blanket, and found her baggiest cloak as well as her heaviest moneybag. She was ready to buy people’s silence if she had to. As she walked out of the Wizard Tower trying not to think of Cerys and failing, she felt an odd sense of responsibility to the warm bundle she was carrying. She had to make Cerys proud. She had to keep her daughter safe.

After their first two interactions, things had been easier between them, almost like they were friends. Cerys would nod at Marcia, and Marcia would nod back, wishing she could wave but unsure of the royal norms and customs that were upheld in this region. Alther was an important dignitary, being the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, and Marcia, being his Apprentice, was respected as well, though obviously not as much, which meant that there were numerous balls and official functions and legal meetings that the two of them had to sit through together. Sometimes they’d make eye contact and smile. Once, Marcia caught Cerys stifling a yawn. She’d projected dancing mice across the table, and done it so that only the Queen could see. Cerys’s bemused smile had been worth it.

They’d talked, too. At some point, Marcia had realised that Cerys actually valued her company, however odd that seemed, and had taken to visiting the Castle during her free time. Since she had no family in the Queendom it wasn’t particularly odd, and it gave her something to do, something to think about. Cerys was always fun to talk to, and they traded stories about their childhood over tea, played complicated games of chess, and spoke archival academia that nobody else they knew cared about. Somehow, they’d become friends, and Marcia was surprised by how much she enjoyed it, how much it meant to her. 

The infant in the blanket moved a little, slightly closer to Marcia, and Marcia felt warmer. She remembered Cerys’s fearful conversation about what she would have to do if she died before raising her daughter.

“Marcia, surely you know of the Queen Rules,” she’d said.  
“Yes, your Honour,” Marcia had responded jokingly, and Cerys had thrown a cushion at her.  
“None of that formal nonsense, please. You need to listen, this is important.”  
Marcia had nodded. Cerys didn’t normally use that tone with her. She sounded more serious and official than she usually did.  
“If I die before my daughter comes of age, it’s going to be hell,” Cerys had said. “That would kill me so much, inside. I would probably die twice.”  
“If you don’t mind me asking, why?” Marcia had asked.  
“Rules that forbid me from interacting with her until she comes of age.” Cerys sighed. “But also the expectation that I need to give her a hard time, to ensure she grows into her own Queen, and not an echo of me.”  
“Cerys, your daughters will have plenty of personality of their own, no-one should fear that.”  
“But it’s tradition,” Cerys had said, softly. “I don’t have a say. It’s how I’m supposed to bring up my daughter.”  
Marcia hadn’t known what to say to that, so she’d reached out and held the Queen’s hand instead.

A few years had passed, and they’d grown even closer. Cerys called Marcia Marce now, sometimes even Marcie, and occasionally took her out to see things like museums. Marcia, for the most part, called Cerys Cer, and didn’t mind the occasional hug or frequent hand-holding. They’d even fallen asleep together once, Marcia’s head on Cerys’s shoulder.

Marcia was all bite, but around Cerys she could be soft. Deeply instilled respect of royalty had evolved into something more personal and intimate, something familiar. A mutual respect and sort of reverence had grown around them, if you could call it that. Marcia was still Marcia. She was still bitter and easily angry, she still made sarcastic comments and she still helped children when she saw them in need. But Cerys understood that, and respected that. She’d let Marcia sit on the kitchen table swinging her legs and bitching about the sexist ghost in the Manuscriptorium, or the rude boy who’d whistled at her when she’d gone to the Market, or what they were saying, about an army of child soldiers. She’d let Marcia spill her anger and bitterness, and in turn she’d traded secrets with Marcia, about how she’d been lonely as a teenager, about how she’d had one sister who’d run off to the Northern Lands because she didn’t ever want to be Queen. Cerys could talk for hours about her, and Marcia could listen.

They’d even kissed a few times, and done more than that as well. The first time, Cerys had asked Marcia in the middle of a rant about “ _that useless Fume, I have half a mind to banish him but you can’t do that without a valid reason but I want to do that anyway_ ” whether a kiss would be acceptable. Marcia had stopped midsentence, stunned. The only words she’d been able to say were “Don’t you have a husband?”

Cerys had nodded and shrugged, said, “Yeah, but it’s an open relationship, he’s been with other people, and I’m fine with it. He said I could be with other people if I wanted, too, but so far I haven’t found anyone I would want to be with. Until you.” 

“Until me,” Marcia had echoed, before nodding, and putting her hands around Cerys’s waist, gently.

Later on, she’d met Cerys’s husband, Milo, and to her surprise, had actually gotten along with him rather well. He was extravagant and not too interesting, but they both had Cerys in common, and Marcia could tell that he really loved her, and that made her want to get along with him.

_It’s over now_ , she thought, stopping in her tracks, realizing where she was. She put the baby down, and put a warming spell on her, as well as enchanting her blanket with a temporary StaySafe. She had a lot to do- cover her tracks, and repress her thoughts, try not to let Gringe see that she was on the verge of crying as she waited for Silas Heap. Marcia blinked. She could do that. She remembered Cerys, on the night after a party where everyone had gotten drunk except for Marcia and that newbie scribe, Jillie Djinn. Cerys had held on to her for longer than necessary, and whispered in her ear, soft and thoughtful, “Women like you can do anything.” Marcia sure hoped it was true. She needed some luck now. 

Cerys’s ghost and Alther’s ghost were in the same room, but Marcia held them in her heart. She left the infant princess, whispered a prayer even though she wasn’t sure if she even believed in god, and then she walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on my [tumblr](https://wendronwitch.tumblr.com/) if you want?


End file.
